Kazoo

A humble kazoo, of tin and thin membrane,
Whispers a buzz where song would claim,
With just a hum, a breath, a sigh—
It turns our voice to comic sky.

In pubs and parks, on rainy days,
It joins the chorus, lifts the haze;
A cheeky sound, both bright and bold,
Turning murmur into gold.

So let us blow, with zest and glee,
This tiny pipe of unity—
For in its simple, whining tone,
We find a joy that’s all our own.